


Diary of a Death Strawberry

by Lyn_Laine



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Female Ichigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyn_Laine/pseuds/Lyn_Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo is a girl with a diary.  Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.</p><p>The Bleach story told from a female Ichigo's perspective through a series of diary entries.  Eventual Ichigo/Toushiro, Ichigo/Byakuya.  Eventual friendships with all other main characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have many versions of this story posted up on fanfiction sites. Strawberry and Strawberry Remix are on FF. Sharpened Crimson is a story I did a while ago on Ao3.
> 
> Well, this is the newest version of my attempt at a female Ichigo. I hope you enjoy. Please do leave comments, I love those.

Entry One

Pay no attention to the ghost-seeing girl behind the curtain.

My name is Kurosaki Ichigo - Ichigo Kurosaki the Western way. Ichigo is pronounced with an “eh” - like “Echigo.” Ichigo has twin name meanings. One is “strawberry.” The other is “guardian” or “to protect one thing.”

I can see dead people. 

But let me talk about some other things about myself first. I don’t like to let my ability define who I am.

My favorite genre is horror - horror books, horror movies, horror TV shows. Psychological horror is great, and Stephen King is its master (though Kubrick is amazing too, and American Psycho was awesome), but so is gory slasher horror - I love laughing at old school slasher; it’s compulsive, I laugh at exploding heads. Sci fi horror is cool - like the Alien franchise. Fantasy horror, such as with HP Lovecraft, is great. Also great in a whole different way is what I call “aesthetic horror” - the whole dark-lacy-dress, pool-of-crimson-blood kind of scary - Guillermo Del Toro, Edgar Allan Poe, that sort of thing. Horror can be disguised in other forms, such as in gritty crime drama for example. The Godfather is an excellent example of that. And monster stories are awesome. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Bram Stoker’s Dracula are literally two of the best books I have ever read. Unexpected horror, such as in the movie The Others, or The Machinist, or sort of in the movie Crimson Peak, is always interesting. Cutesy horror is something I like in television - Pushing Up Daisies or iZombie for example. The Walking Dead is probably somewhere in the middle. On the other end of the spectrum is Hannibal, which is in no way cutesy at all. I’m not afraid of sexual horror; I’m sort of clinical about it, and I read it as something that happens in life, but then sexual horror has never actually happened to me. I guess I might feel differently if it had. 

I also read manga and comics, and so of course horror manga and comics really interest me. And I like horror video games, especially role play games. But honestly video games in general are cool - from Mario Bros to Mass Effect. I’m one of those intense gamer girls who throws things and swears when she loses.

I love creepy shit and adrenaline rushes, and I also do urban exploration, which is the exploration of abandoned old places, from hospitals to asylums to houses. I am strategically located to be able to do this, as I live in Tokyo, the biggest and most populated Japanese city in the world. (I love themed and cat cafes, and taking photos in the crazed-fashion-heavy Harajuku district. I am a true Tokyo person.) My home district is Karakura, a suburb on the outskirts of the city, but thanks to public transportation I can get almost anywhere. 

Anyway. Urban exploration. You take a video camera, a flashlight, and sometimes gloves and a breathing mask, and you break into creepy abandoned old places, taking video footage of the wreckage you’ve found within. If you really want to go the whole hundred yards and scare the pants off of yourself, you do it at night. And let’s be honest, what other reason would anyone have for breaking and entering into a place where you could encounter toxic mold or fall through the floor at any second? You HAVE to be in it to get scared. I have a vlog - a collection of online videos - dedicated to my urban exploration film footage, and a whole pack of friends who like to do the same thing I do, including a lovey dovey teenage couple who are always trying to outdo each other and a Pacific Islander kid from an immigrant family who seems so clean-cut and has such an ambitious future ahead of him that you’d never guess it of him. We’ve been caught loitering by police a couple of times, but nothing worse than that. They just chase us off. Technically we’re not supposed to be doing what we’re doing - like that’s ever stopped me.

My favorite music genres are punk rock, bluesy rock, and classic rock (though I do sometimes listen to other genres, and I try not to look down on anyone for what they like). I love everything from Paramore, Placebo, The Emo Trinity, Cage the Elephant, The Donnas, and Mindless Self Indulgence to The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin to Gin Wigmore, Elle King, Adele, Amy Winehouse, ZZ Ward, Chantal Claret, and Beyonce - at least in her later musical forms. 

Since this is a diary, I guess I should confess my more embarrassing musical loves as well. My favorite love songs are - and this is a big one, because the fact that I am romantic is very, very secret:

\- “Wonder” by Lauren Aquilina  
\- Here’s the big one: “Last Kiss”, “Stay Stay Stay”, “Begin Again”, “Fearless”, “Love Story”, “White Horse”, “The Way I Loved You”, “Mine”, “Back to December”, “Dear John”, “I Know Places”, “How You Get the Girl”, “Blank Space”, “Wildest Dreams”, “Style”, “You Are In Love”, “I’d Lie”, and “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift   
\- “I Won’t Say I’m In Love” from Hercules because Megara is amazing  
\- “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry (my theme song)  
\- “Let Her Cry” by Hootie & the Blowfish  
\- “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran  
\- The finale/reprise between Jack and Sally at the end of The Nightmare Before Christmas - I love Tim Burton movies

“The Best Day” is also a good song by Taylor Swift because it reminds me of my mother, and “New Romantics” is a nice anthem too. “22” is a lot of fun. As a feminist, I probably shouldn’t like “Better Than Revenge” as much as I do. (Then again, the same could be said of The Rolling Stones‘ “Under My Thumb.”) And I like Lana Del Rey, especially “Blue Jeans” and “Video Games.” “It Takes Two” is a good song by Katy Perry, as is “Part of Me”, which has a good message. “This Is How We Do” is probably Katy Perry’s most fun song. “Sally’s Song” from The Nightmare Before Christmas isn’t really a love song, per se, but Amy Lee’s version was beautiful.

My favorite foods are spicy food and chocolate. I have green tea, yogurt with fruit, and sweet natto (fermented soybean paste with sugar) each morning for breakfast, like an old person. I always carry a bottle of hot sauce and a bottle of either soda or iced tea around in my bag with me. I really like candy.

I love Shakespeare, poetry, and classical literature. I have hundreds of big, dog-eared old books. I write as well as read poetry - not angsty stuff, usually, more stories and self confessionals, little things I notice in other people around me, some disenchanted satire, occasionally something creepy and horror-themed. Sylvia Path and Maya Angelou are two of my favorite poets besides Shakespeare.

I also do charcoal drawing, in an angular realist style, and I love to play the guitar - I have a combined acoustic-electric. So I’m creative on several fronts. 

I have an ASMR vlog, and I post videos to it every so often. For those who don’t know, ASMR is that tingling sensation you get up and down your spine and the back of your neck when you hear certain sounds. Usually soothing sounds. Common triggers are soft speaking, hair brushing, and chewing, among other things, but every person’s triggers are unique. ASMR vloggers do things like cook, show off their makeup brushes and accessories, show people a good massage, all on video, and incorporate lots of little triggers into an otherwise ordinary if soft-spoken piece of film, giving viewers a relaxing, tingling sensation and helping them fall asleep.

My sports of choice are karate, kendo, and junior roller derby. (I’m fifteen.) I’m in the karate and kendo clubs at my high school, and I’m an expert in both swordsmanship and hand to hand, so I’m super prepared in case anyone ever tries to break into my house. And I’m on the local junior roller derby team as well. Also for those who don’t know, roller derby is when you give yourself a nickname, strap on a pair of roller skates, a helmet, and some guards, join a team, and shove and punch people out of the way to make it around the rink before the other team. Speed is a must. My roller girl name is Orange Crush, after the drink, both because of my orange hair and because of my viciousness.

I make lots of friends at my sports as well, some teasing sporty guys and some tough, matter-of-fact girls, which is nice. That’s completely putting aside the girls on my roller team, who are all by necessity extremely aggressive and completely insane.

I’m a big proponent of both feminism and gay rights. Fuck you if you don’t agree. Nobody asked you. Equality of the sexes is important, and no one should be punished for falling in love with a fellow consensual adult. I am fully willing to debate this with basically anyone, by the way.

Instead of taking home ec - because I already know through my home life how to cook, clean, and sew - I take auto shop in school. So I know a great deal about cars, and I hope to get my license someday. I am in fact interested in science - unusually for someone who can see ghosts, perhaps, I’m an atheist skeptic who believes the ghosts that pass are simply absorbed into the universe around us as star-stuff. That’s not to say I don’t have morals - far from it. I simply don’t use any existing system to decide my moral code.

I want to become a journalist and a travel writer when I’m older. I love travel and I’m fascinated by the West, in case you couldn’t tell from my novel, poetry, television, and music choices. I’m taking advanced level courses in English, and I have a British pen pal/Skype pal who I practice my English with. We talk verbally on Skype, in written form through emails.

Some of my fashion loves: Hair clips. Flame red lipstick, cocoa eyeliner, and almond blush. Bone and wood jewelry, especially dangling earrings. Jade is another of my favorites when it comes to jewelry. (A lot of my online usernames involve “jade.”) A peppery, orange blossomy perfume called Black Opium. Autumn-shaded clothing colors (my seasonal complexion is Autumn, with orange hair, warm amber brown eyes, and a gold skin undertone). Japanese nail art on my short, blunt, crappy nails. 

I cut my own long, straight hair because of its unique orange color. I don’t like hairdressers thinking I’ve dyed my hair, calling me a “Yankee” - a Japanese female gangster. My hair just looks orange naturally. I know. It’s weird. I don’t like all the judgment that comes with having strange hair.

Also I’m usually chewing on bubblegum. Either spearmint or cinnamon. Other miscellaneous... My birthday is July 15th. Oh! And like everyone else on planet Earth, I’ve read Harry Potter. My wand is 13 1/2 inches, unicorn hair and maple, supple. Maple is supposedly the wand of travelers, explorers, and ambitious high-achievers, so go me. My Hogwarts house is Gryffindor, the house of the brave, and my Ilvermorny house is Wampus, the body or warrior of a witch, though I have some problems with Ilvermorny and cultural appropriation.

So. That’s me. And now on to the inevitable.

I can see ghosts. I’ve been able to see ghosts since before I can remember. My Sight got better the older I became in years, and the more ghosts I came into contact with, until now I can “see” the dead as well as I can see the living. Some people become ghosts, some don’t, and all ghosts disappear after a while. Ghosts have a few distinctive features: floating, chain hanging from a gaping hole in their chest, obvious signs of death post-mortem. You have no idea how creepy it is walking along the street and seeing a dead, bleeding little girl walk right by you that no one else can see.

So I’ve taken to helping ghosts: They come to me looking for peace, and I assist them in whatever they need to keep them happy. Usually ghosts are either tied to a place or a person, so a lot of my help is based around that. Ghosts typically aren’t scary or violent like they are in movies - most of them are just stuck to something that remains behind on earth.

No one outside my family knows I can see ghosts. It’s not exactly something I like to tell people; when I was little people called me crazy for “talking to stuff that’s not really there.” The only other people in my life who can see ghosts are my two twin little sisters, Karin and Yuzu. (Karin has short black hair, pale sharp features, and a penchant for deadpan sarcasm; she wears shorts and loves playing soccer with the boys. Yuzu is sweet with a bob of cinnamon-colored hair; she wears summer dresses and loves dressing up and playing with dolls.) Neither of them can See as well as me, but they can See. Our father, a tall, broad-shouldered, and black-haired eternal goofball with a weird hot-and-cold style of parenting teenagers and a fuzzy beard, can’t See the dead at all. 

We speculate that only we can see the dead because our Dad is a doctor and his small hospital takes up the bottom and front part of our house. We grew up in an environment where some people lived, some died. My sisters and I even sometimes help our Dad with nursing duties. I’ve watched a lot of people die - it’s hard. So maybe that’s why I can see the dead?

You may be wondering where my Mom is in all this. And that’s a whole story in and of itself, one that ties intimately with much of my background and my past.

My parents met when my father saved my mother. We never got the full story - whatever he saved her from, they don’t like to talk about it. They dated while in college, and then after college they got married. Eventually, they had me and my sisters. Pretty typical story, right?

I had a dreamy home life. A warm, loving, strong-minded mother who pulled in everyone effortlessly around her, who everyone liked even when they didn’t want to; a doting father who was always goofing off to make us laugh; two perfect little siblings. I wanted to be just like my mother one day; I looked up to her and tried to be exactly like her. I was a gentle, shy little thing back then, always reading and drawing and afraid of everything.

But I had heard my father say once that my name meant “to protect one thing.” At first I decided I wanted to protect my mother, but then my sisters were born and I wanted to protect them too, then my father, then my friends... The sphere of people I wanted to protect grew and grew. So I decided to take karate lessons. 

I wasn’t very good at them at first. I gave up and cried too easily. My best friend, the other girl in the class, Tatsuki, she used to get so exasperated with me. She beat me so easily, and every time she did I cried.

Then one day when I was nine, my mother was walking me home from karate class and it was raining. The river across the street was overflowing. I saw a girl standing perched above the river, and I thought she was about to jump in and drown herself. I ran across the street full of cars recklessly to try to pull the girl back, and my mother shouted and ran after me. 

She got hit. I didn’t. I felt someone push me out of the way, my head hit the ground, and I blacked out. I woke up to find my mother’s dead body lying draped over me, her wide blank eyes staring into mine, on the riverbank on the other side of the street. Her back was torn wide open, bleeding heavily. The girl was gone.

My mother never became a ghost, and so none of my family ever saw her again. I remember skipping school to go stand by the riverbank, pacing and pacing around it for days, but she never appeared. I still remember how I felt: one part grief, one part anger at her for not wanting to stay, one part relief that I wouldn’t have to face her again. I didn’t like myself. I still don’t, to be honest. I don’t think I’ll ever quite shake the feeling that my mother’s death was my fault, that I’m a coward for on some level not wanting to see her again.

My father put up a giant memorial of my Mom on the wall. He talks to it every day. I dealt with my grief in a different way: by taking over the mothering duties for the house. I cook, clean, do the laundry, look after my little sisters. I am the stoical protector. All of a sudden I rose to the top of my class in karate, and I moved on to kendo. I had promised myself I would never cry again. No one else close to me was going to die.

What a fool I had been, I thought, to think I could be as good as my Mom. To think I was some sort of hero.

I guess I dealt by becoming a bitchy overachiever, if I’m being honest with myself.

Everything I know about being a woman, I taught myself. (I then shared all of my knowledge with my sisters.) Some things I did get from my friends. Tatsuki is still my best friend, a tall, lanky girl with a pixie cut of messy black hair and dark eyeliner, tough and protective but with a soft-hearted center - we’re in karate club together, though Tatsuki competes nationally and I don’t - and I made another best friend in Orihime. She’s a curvy girl with long caramel-colored hair in twin star hair barrettes that her brother gave her before he died. Her older brother died at my family’s hospital clinic. So later in middle school when I saw her being picked on, I recognized her and me and Tatsuki intervened, saving her from the bullies. We taught her hand to hand, and she became the third in our threesome. Orihime is sweet and daydreamy, absent minded and clumsy, an eccentric cook who likes standup comedy. Tatsuki is on the student disciplinary committee; Orihime is a student health counselor. The three of us have sleepovers, talk about guys, and go shopping together. They’re probably my best friends.

I have other friends, too. I’ve gotten a lot of shit because of my orange hair color. Teachers look down on me, forcing me to get good grades to prove them wrong; I also get sexual harassment from older men. One day in middle school, I’d been cornered by a gang of men who thought me “exotic.” To my surprise, a big dark-skinned guy jumped in and saved me, defending me from them; we fought back to back and together we beat the crap out of all of them. I even saved a gold coin chain he wore around his neck, finding out afterward that he’d gotten it from his late grandfather.

Later, I told him he didn’t have to do that - I could have handled it. He said quietly, “I know. But just because you can deal with them, doesn’t mean you should have to.” His name was Yasutora Sado, and I found out later that he was half Mexican and he’d just moved back to Japan after his grandfather, his abuelo, had died in Mexico.

A few days later, I saw the same guys beating the shit out of Sado, who was alone. I jumped in and saved him. I held up my cell phone and called emergency. I said, “We need -” I counted the thugs. “One, two, three, four, five ambulances please,” I finished in a frigid tone. They called me a bitch and jumped in to punch me, and with Sado’s help I beat them all - easily.

Then we were even. We’ve been friends ever since. Sado’s a good guy - very quiet and emotionally repressed, but deathly loyal and a great musician (he plays bass) with lots of older guy friends. Sometimes I go to concerts and have a beer with them; nothing much happens, it’s all just casual fun between the guys. Sado would never let anything happen to me. He’s told me about his family history and about the tattoo on his upper arm. I even gave him the nickname Chad, which everyone now uses, because his name Sado sounds so much like a Western name I like.

Later, me and Chad saved two guys named Mizuiro and Keigo from some bullies, and they grew to be our friends as well. Mizuiro is a dark-haired prep who likes to seduce older women with his sweet charm, Keigo with long messy brown hair is the class goofball screwoff with a side of lecherous pervert. (He never flirts with me though. He’s a little frightened of me and he knows if he sticks his hand up my skirt I’ll rip it off and feed it to him. Years of harassment has NOT made me kind toward unwanted advances.)

I also gained several friends through Orihime and Tatsuki, including Michiru, a cute, shy girl with short hair and a barrette who loves stuffed animals; Chizuru, a wild-haired bespectacled blatant and proud lesbian who’s always flirting with Orihime, and occasionally even has the guts to flirt with me; Mahana, a loud, tomboyish gossip with messy hair and an open shirt collar; and Ryou, a cold bookworm track star with grades even better than mine and long black hair that hides most of her expressionless face. 

My friend Mizuho, Keigo’s older sister, I met through kendo club. She has a ponytail, a scowl, and a tough, intimidating, “PE coach” demeanor. But she takes good care of her little brother.

So... that’s my life. I do my hobbies, I care for my family, I go to high school. I’m the super collected overachiever. Secretly, I do things like save ghosts, sneak into abandoned houses, drink at concerts, and I do roller derby. I am like the epitome of that 5 Seconds of Summer song, “Good girls are bad girls that haven’t been caught.” 

Not that I think my Dad’s very intent on catching me, despite all his pretend-strictness. Yet in the same breath he’ll turn around and try to suffocate me in one of his “Daddy-style” embraces, saying we don’t spend enough time together. Then in the next breath he’ll be goofing off, shouting about his masculinity and trying to pin the gardener next door down with karate moves to prove he’s “still got it.” Like I said, he’s a weird guy to have as a parent. He’s a complete nut-case, but I guess I care about him anyway. So do my sisters. They just won’t admit it. Karin says it would encourage him.

She’s probably right.

That is my life, and this is my diary. I got it for Christmas; it’s spring now and I’ve just started writing in it. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m a bit busy. I only plan on doing entries when something noteworthy or important happens, or when I haven’t written for a while and I want to catch you up with what I’m doing.

I’ll end with a poem by Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman” (because I’m a strange mixture of self loathing and fuck-you-arrogant - and also because she talks about unconventional looking women and I am, like, insanely tall even by the standards of an American woman). So here it is, “Phenomenal Woman”:

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.   
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size.     
But when I start to tell them,   
They think I’m telling lies.   
I say,   
It’s in the reach of my arms,   
The span of my hips,     
The stride of my step,     
The curl of my lips.     
I’m a woman   
Phenomenally.   
Phenomenal woman,     
That’s me. 

I walk into a room   
Just as cool as you please,     
And to a man,   
The fellows stand or   
Fall down on their knees.     
Then they swarm around me,   
A hive of honey bees.     
I say,   
It’s the fire in my eyes,     
And the flash of my teeth,     
The swing in my waist,     
And the joy in my feet.     
I’m a woman   
Phenomenally.   
Phenomenal woman,   
That’s me. 

Men themselves have wondered     
What they see in me.   
They try so much   
But they can’t touch   
My inner mystery.   
When I try to show them,     
They say they still can’t see.     
I say,   
It’s in the arch of my back,     
The sun of my smile,   
The ride of my breasts,   
The grace of my style.   
I’m a woman   
Phenomenally.   
Phenomenal woman,   
That’s me. 

Now you understand   
Just why my head’s not bowed.     
I don’t shout or jump about   
Or have to talk real loud.     
When you see me passing,   
It ought to make you proud.   
I say,   
It’s in the click of my heels,     
The bend of my hair,     
The palm of my hand,     
The need for my care.     
’Cause I’m a woman   
Phenomenally.   
Phenomenal woman,   
That’s me.


	2. Chapter 2

Entry Two

So everything seemed completely normal, right? 

I went to school for five days; I did five nights worth of homework. I cleaned up after and cooked for my family, went to the grocery store with them once. I practiced my English, wrote once to my pen pal, studied my auto repair. 

I played two levels in my latest video game, continued my latest book, watched too much TV, went to the comic book store once. I wrote three poems, drew two pictures, and worked on learning my newest song on the guitar - “Daydreaming” by Paramore - we got a noise complaint from a neighbor because my electric guitar wailing and my singing was so loud. 

I planned an urban exploration trip on Saturday, laundry on Sunday morning, an exploration of Tokyo on Sunday afternoon. I listened to too much music, went to karate, kendo, and roller derby practices, messaged a few people on social media, did three friend phone calls, read several science and news articles, and talked about going to a concert next month with Chad and his friends. 

I went shopping once with Orihime and Tatsuki, and bought a new pair of dangling earrings: jade inlaid inside fangs. I also stocked up on some new flame red lipstick and some new Black Opium perfume. I made vague plans to do three more ASMR videos: one showing off my latest accessories, makeup bags, and purchases; one showing me cooking one of my latest spicy, meaty Ethiopian food recipes; one of me giving myself a haircut.

Everything seemed completely normal. But I guess, to get to when things started getting weird, I have to go back a ways.

I was approached by another ghost earlier this week. A little girl who’d been shot in the eyeball, some skateboarding pot-smoking punks were bothering her final resting place, a back alley somewhere in Karakura district. The idiots weren’t dangerous, just loud and dumb. She requested that I get rid of them, so I asked her about their schedules and she said they were always in the alley on weekends from late afternoon through early evening. I decided to leave an offering of flowers behind in the alleyway on Thursday, then check back in on Friday after school and see if obvious evidence of a beloved dead person had scared them off.

Surprise, surprise.  It hadn’t.  And when I arrived at the alleyway on Friday afternoon, after I’d finished my homework at the school library, there they were: the punks.  Even as I watched, one of them tried to do a trick on his skateboard, zoomed at his friend, missed and stumbled, and smashed right into that offering.  There were loud “Ooohs” and lots of snickering as bits of glass and broken petals went everywhere.

I sighed.  Well.  So much for going the easy route.

“Boys, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I said loudly, leaning against the alley wall, my arms crossed, frowning firmly.  They all whirled around to look at me.  My short little Karakura High School uniform was pristine, simple, and neat, showing off my long legs and tight ass. My hair was up in a bone hair clip; I was wearing my usual makeup, perfume, and a pair of dangling wood-carving earrings. My shoes were classic, eccentrically colored, with a T-strap and a slight heel; I slowly slid out of them. I pulled my tote bag full of school materials off my shoulder and put it off to the side. The boys leered, their eyes brightening.

Idiots. I wasn’t stepping out of my shoes so I could come on to them. Despite myself, I was almost amused.

“Okay. Here’s how this is going to work,” I said, stepping into the alley. “A little girl died here last week. Her soul needs peace. You clear out now, and don’t come back, and I won’t have to break your kneecaps. Deal?” I smiled.

They laughed. “You? What’s some girl going to do?” The leader sneered, and the men (I use that term very loosely) laughed harder. “Now come on over here, baby, let me show you a good time.”

My eyes had narrowed. “I’m not your baby,” I said coldly. “I’m telling you one last time: clear out now. This is your final warning.”

But they were all hooting and wolf whistling now, shit eating grins plastered over their faces.

“The things I could do to you...”

“Come here, sweetheart!”

“Look at those long, wrap-around legs!”

“Take a good long look, pal, ‘cause they ain’t never wrappin’ around you!” I snapped, and the laughter faded. “What? You actually think you’re appealing because you’re trying to look tough, with all those piercings and baggy pants?” I laughed harshly. “You know what they say about people who are trying too hard. Your penis is probably the size of an eraser!”

They growled. I was unfazed. They called me a bitch and charged at me.

Guess what? I was still unfazed.

I leaped upward, bending my legs in a midair split, and I kicked two in the face. They went down in showers of blood with broken noses. I landed on the ground, swept the third’s feet, and elbowed him in the face on the way down. I ducked under two punches, sunk my fist into one’s gut, and sunk the hilt of my wooden sword into the other’s gut.

And then I was standing there calmly, surrounded by five downed, groaning thugs.

I waved to the little girl, who was floating in a kind of silent amazement by the roof of the nearest building, and she floated down to my level. Giving an eerie smile, I tilted my head and put an arm around her, resting my head on her shoulder. As soon as I did, she appeared to them, wide-eyed and terrifying, covered in blood and chains.

“I think we can get you to leave us alone now,” I said sweetly. “Don’t you?”

The sun was just starting to set, throwing shadows on the alley. The lighting was perfect.

They all started screaming, scrambling to their feet. I walked forward and stepped on the leader’s face, the one who had started the cat-calls, shoving his cheek back into the ground. “Apologize!” I growled, pushing and pushing. “Apologize now!”

“Shit! Crazy woman! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

I lifted my foot. “Good,” I said calmly. “And don’t come back.”

He staggered to his feet and ran away after the others.

I smirked. “Heh. Well, I don’t think they’ll be back. Sorry for using you like that,” I added casually.

“Hey, I asked you to get rid of them,” said the little girl. “I was glad to help.”

“I’ll bring fresh flowers soon,” I added. “Clean this place up for you.” I clinically eyed the graffiti splashed onto the walls. No good for the psyche of a dead person - no good at all.

“Thank you, Nee-chan. Now I can rest peacefully.” The girl smiled. “You know,” she said admiringly, “if I had grown up, I’d want to be just like you.”

I smiled sadly. She reminded me a bit of my sisters - even right down to the way she called me Nee-chan, or intimately beloved sister. That sort of admiration is always bittersweet for me. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly good role model.

“Don’t say that,” I said quietly, and she looked confused. Before she could ask, I added, “Just rest in peace, okay?”

I turned away, slid into my shoes, put my tote bag over my shoulder, and left. 

If she was still around when I came back later, I’d bring her fresh flowers, clean the place up, as I’d promised. But that was it for me. The only ghost I came into regular contact with was Orihime’s brother Sora, and that was by force, because he’s tied to their apartment. I’ve tried to convince him a thousand times that Orihime still thinks about him often - he’s caught up in this complex where he thinks he’s no longer important in her memory. Talk about frustrating.

I haven’t seen him around lately. Maybe he’s finally passed on. That’s a little sad.

No, once I’m done helping them, mostly I let the dead go on about their business.

-

I walked up to my house and around to the back door, which leads to the combined kitchen/dining room/family room. (Our house is compact: the family room and one bedroom downstairs - that’s Karin’s and Yuzu’s - two bedrooms upstairs - my father’s and mine - one spare room upstairs, and one downstairs bathroom. That’s it. The rest of it is devoted to the frontal hospital.)

I slid off my shoes and my tote bag, walking into the kitchen. “I’m home,” I announced.

I redid all the interior decorating for my house myself. It was a way to cope after Mom passed away - I erased all traces of her decorating. The only thing that reminds us of her is Dad’s memorial on the wall, and that’s a still-frame picture above a shrine - it’s obvious she’s already dead. 

So, to wit: The house is covered in vintage and repurposed furniture, and cinder block shelves, with twisting pieces of metal hung on the walls. There is a white color scheme, and vases of lavender and yellow roses tucked into corners. The kitchen is vast, stainless steel, fit for a gourmet chef, very expensive. It’s my space and I will only stand for the best. My Dad’s doctor money paid for it; this in exchange for my Dad NEVER having to cook a meal.

Speaking of which. The minute I got inside, my father charged at me, his arms wide open. “My beautiful daughter, you come home later and grow farther from me every day! You now ignore curfew completely! Do not let puberty come between us! COME, BE EMBRACED AGAINST YOUR FATHER’S MANLY CHEST -!”

I put my fist right where his face was about to be and he sank to the floor.

“Dad,” I said in irritation, “does anything that comes out of your mouth ever sound normal?”

“No!” he said brightly from the floor, raising a finger. “But nice right hook, my daughter Ichigo!” The finger turned into a thumbs up. I rolled my eyes.

“And I’m not growing away from you, Dad,” I said, going into the kitchen to get some pre-prepared soup for ramen. “I’m just busy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Yuzu. She and Karin were at the kitchen table. “You’ve had less time for us since you started high school too, Nee-chan.”

My father shot to his feet. “We’re agreed! We should stage an Ichigo intervention! There should be cake!”

“No cake. No intervention. Busy!” I glared slightly for effect.

My father was unfazed. “This house is not a democracy!”

“It sure as hell is.” I turned from the stove and put a hand on my hip. “Do you even know how to cook and clean for yourself? What if I staged a protest and stopped doing anything, huh? What then?”

“Dad, stop pissing off, Ichi-nee, I don’t want to have to do my own laundry!” Karin protested.

Dad became faux wounded. “My own daughters turning against me. It must be puberty!”

“Dad,” I said as I busied dinner preparation over the stove, “as evidenced by how you handled my first period, you know disgustingly little about female puberty for a doctor.” Karin and Yuzu snickered.

“I told you that you weren’t dying!” my Dad protested.

“Yeah, Dad. Spectacular parenting moment. Now go sit over there and wait for dinner to be done.” I glared irritably and pointed.

I finished putting soy sauce, onion, mirin, garlic, and beef into the soup and thick noodles for ramen, and called, “Dinner’s ready!”

Everyone charged over and got bowls, and we all sat around the table. “Ichi-nee,” said Karin, chewing, “on a hypothetical level, if I asked you to become an advertised medium for the dead at the park for one summer, would you agree if we charged admission and the three of us split the difference?”

“No,” I said flatly.

“Aww, come on, Ichi-nee! You know Dad doesn’t believe in allowances!” Karin moaned, slumping over the table. I exchanged looks with my Dad, who chuckled and went back to his food. 

“Come on, Karin,” I said, going back to my food. “You know I don’t like psychics.”

“BUT YOU ARE ONE.”

“Completely irrelevant,” I said smoothly. “And besides, this coming from the girl who says that if she refuses to believe in ghosts, it’s like they don’t exist?”

“You knew she wouldn’t agree, Karin-chan!” Yuzu laughed as Karin growled and sat back in frustration. “By the way, Nee-chan. Some guy was picking on me today? I kicked him in the gonads. You know, like in that move you taught me?”

“Excellent, how did it go?” I asked casually, as Dad started coughing on his food.

“Great!” said Yuzu brightly. “He couldn’t move for five minutes!” Our father stared.

“See?” I said, still eating. “I told you.”

“You sure did! Oh, Nee-chan. You have a new ‘friend’ haunting you.”

“What is that, the fourth one this month?” Karin muttered. “Geez. Ichi-nee’s popular.”

I turned around to find the ghost of an old man in square glasses and a suit and tie floating there. There was a red stain on his chest, right above the hole with the chain emanating from it.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You were shot by a business partner. You were a complete asshole in life. You’re not tied to a place or a person, you’re just afraid to move on. You’re terrified of the idea of going to hell. You want spiritual peace, and all the other ghosts around here told you to come to me.”

“Why can’t I see the dead...?” my Dad muttered petulantly, bent bitterly in the fetal position over his food.

“Yeah,” said the ghost in amazement. “How did you know? Are you a mind reader too?” 

“No, I’ve just done this a few times before,” I said.

“Spot on as always, Ichi-nee,” said Karin, as Yuzu gasped admiringly.

“Yeah,” I said, purposefully nonchalant, “whatever. Now, Businessman Ghost Guy. I’m afraid I can’t help you, because I don’t know what happens to the ghosts that disappear from this place. You want my opinion? I believe we all go back to the earth. You know, that our energy is absorbed into the fold. I don’t think I believe there’s anything after this, myself.”

“So... oblivion?” the businessman pondered.

I nodded calmly. I’d gotten used to the idea and it no longer really frightened me. “Oblivion,” I agreed. “Look, no offense, Businessman Ghost Guy. But I don’t think death has anything left to show me.”

-

My family only has two chores: to make their own beds every morning, and clean up the kitchen after dinner every night together. So after dinner, I headed upstairs to my bedroom. 

My bedroom color scheme is neutrals, light greens, yellows, and grays. There is reclaimed wood furniture, and jute rugs. There are woven grasses, dried woods, and living plants. It’s wall to wall shelves full of books, movies, music, and TV, and there is a comfy nook to curl up in by the window with a good book. The rest of the room is taken up by a vast desk full of electronics, sticky notes, and calendars, and a bed with comfy flannel quilts sometimes flecked with crumbs because I like to midnight snack. My closet is stuffed with clothes and shoes; my bedside table is covered in accessories, bags, and makeup and perfume bottles. There are collages of photographs and stenciled favorite quotes on my walls, and hand-sewn and decorated pillowcases and window curtains.

I was just in the process of readying myself for a bath - I relax every night with a bubble bath, sometimes taken with my sisters, and then a cup of herbal tea, a good book, and some ASMR videos. My pajamas consist of a very big, baggy, long T-shirt and loose, messy hair.

But before I could do very much, something weird, random, and completely impossible since my window was closed, happened. A black swallowtail butterfly fluttered past my head.

“What the -?” I began in bewilderment, which is not a very dramatic thing to say right before your life changes forever.

A girl floated through my bedroom wall after the butterfly. And here’s the thing: she wasn’t a ghost.

She wasn’t. It was obvious. She had no hole in her chest, no chain hanging from it, no signs of death - not even something subtle, like old age or chemotherapy. She looked just like some normal person, except she could float and walk through walls - which clearly meant she was dead. Didn’t it?

She looked around my age, maybe a little older. She was small, slim, and pale, with inky dark hair, lovely violet eyes, and the kind of native delicate elegance I would never be able to carry. She was dressed like an old school samurai: white under-robe, black robes, white sash, tabi socks and sandals. A real, metal katana sword was sheathed at her hip. The reason I emphasize that is because those are illegal in Japan.

Which kinda made me think she was a home invader, trying to break in or something. Could dead people steal from living people? I’d never heard of it, but there was a first time for everything. And she was clearly insane - I mean, she dressed like she was from the 1600’s. She thought she was a samurai. Something was obviously not quite right up there.

Her feet slowly landed on the floor. “It’s close...” she murmured, staring straight ahead of herself, not even looking at me.

I jumped up and landed before her, getting into a karate stance. “Hey,” I demanded, “get outta my house!”

She stared at me, and her eyes widened. “She looks just like... But no, it couldn’t be,” she whispered. Which confused me. Who the hell did I look like? “A schizophrenic,” she continued to herself. “How interesting.”

“I am NOT a schizophrenic!” I returned, indignant.

That was when she really paled. “You... you can see me?”

I took a chance, walked up close to her, and bent down to her level. She went for her sword - and paused cautiously, not drawing it. I smirked and flicked her in the forehead. “Hmm, can I see you?” I said, mock thoughtful. “I’m going to have to go with... Uh, YEAH.”

The girl just stood there for a minute, and I could tell she was silently freaking out.

“Look, I can see the dead,” I sighed, straightening. “You just floated through my bedroom wall and you think you’re invisible - which is positively adorable, by the way.” I grinned.

“I thought you were an undiagnosed schizophrenic!” she returned heatedly.

“Funny.  That’s what I thought you were.”

The girl became indignant.  “I am NOT an undiagnosed schizophrenic!” She mirrored me. “I am a noble member of the house of Kuchiki!”

“See, the problem is, that’s exactly what an undiagnosed schizophrenic would say.  And this noble house of Kuchiki?  Never heard of it.”  I smirked as the girl swelled, reddening.  So she was easy to rile up.

How fun.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re dead. I guess you haven’t heard of me around here yet, samurai girl. But you will. I deal with the dead all the time.”

“No, you don’t understand,” said the girl, sobering. “I am not a samurai, not a warrior of your world.”

“So you’re a space samurai. Fascinating.”

“Shut up and let me finish!” she returned. I snickered, but quieted. She straightened, feigning dignity. “Even humans who can see ordinary dead souls - what you call ghosts - should not be able to see me. I am on a higher level than what you would call a ghost.

“I am a Shinigami.”

Shinigami. God of Death.

-

I decided to entertain this girl’s idea. If what she said was real, I did not know as much as I’d thought I had about death and this needed to be rectified immediately. If what she said WASN’T real... well, I was curious to see just how far this delusion went.

“You’re a Shinigami,” I said skeptically.  “So... I’ve always been curious... when they’re not out reaping souls... what do Shinigami DO, exactly?”  Shinigami were like the Japanese version of the West’s Grim Reaper.  Supposedly, they came for dead souls.  In living world culture, no matter what they were called, they were frightening emblems of death itself, always black-cloaked, eerie beings, silent as the graves they haunted.  Seeing one only meant one thing - that your life was over.  So the idea of one lazing on a beach with some suntan lotion was hilarious.

Kuchiki blinked, surprised by the question.  “Well, it depends on the Shinigami,” she said uncertainly.  “I, for example, like drawing.  And classical music.  I enjoy climbing to high places, such as in rock and tree climbing.  And I like bunnies.”

“You like bunnies?”

“They’re cute!” said Kuchiki defensively.

“Hey, I’m not judging.  Do you have a pet bunny?” 

“Sadly... no.  I do not think my older brother would take kindly to the suggestion.  It would be below my station.”  Kuchiki looked a bit despondent at this.  “He is the head of the family.  He must care about these things.”

“You should get one anyway.”

“Clearly, you have never met my brother.”

“I’d get one anyway.”

“I’m sure you would,” said Kuchiki dryly.  And to a certain extent, I could tell she meant it.  “Now -”

“Wait.  I have more questions.”

Kuchiki seemed impatient, but she said, “Okay.  Fire away.”

“What do Shinigami do on the job?  And where do they live?” I asked intently.

“Shinigami have two principal duties,” explained Kuchiki.  “To destroy evil soul monsters called Hollows - which humans also cannot see - and to help Plus souls, what you call ghosts, pass on to the next life, with a ritual called Konso.  The next life is where we live.  It is called the Soul Society.”

“Do all dead souls become... Plus souls?  How do you destroy Hollows?  What happens to souls who die in the Soul Society?”

“Only the Plus souls with a tie to the living world become ghosts.  Our job is to break their tie to the living world.  We destroy Hollows with our zanpakutoh,” she indicated to her sword, “and with special spells called kido - high level incantations only a Shinigami can cast.”

“So your swords are special and you say funny words.”

Kuchiki looked irritated.  “You know, I don’t have to be explaining this to you.”

“Alright, alright.  What can the spells do?”

“Bind, attack, shield and defend, and heal.  And as for souls who die in the Soul Society... well, first, aging is slowed down in the Soul Society.  Ten years for every one of yours.”  So how old was Kuchiki?  “And only souls with spirit energy even need food.  But once a soul does die in the Soul Society, it is reincarnated in the land of the living.”

“Do you have to have spirit energy to be a Shinigami?”

“Yes.  We are usually recruited from the masses, though the Soul Society born nobility are born to spirit energy naturally.”

“Are all souls born in Soul Society considered nobility?”

“No.  You have to be of an established noble family with spiritual presence,” said Kuchiki firmly.

“And how do you Shinigami decide who destroys what Hollows, or sends on what Plus souls?”

“We each have missions, are assigned sectors to guard for a certain period of time - in Soul Society and in the living world both, because Hollows attack Soul Society too.  They live in the space between realms, a desert place called Hueco Mundo.”

“Why are Hollows so evil?”

“They have a constant emptiness inside them.  They eat souls to feed this emptiness.”

So like vampires.  “So... if a Hollow is destroyed, are the souls it ate released?”

“Into the Soul Society, yes.  Very good,” said Kuchiki, pleased.

“What is the Soul Society like?” I asked curiously.

“It is a very good place.  The commoner’s grounds are a series of small villages.  You would call them old fashioned... as I’ve said, we age much slower there.”  That explained the bizarre clothing.  “Then there is a vast city in the center where the nobles and Shinigami live.  The Soul Society is ruled by a council called Central 46, which regulates Shinigami and provisional spirit law.  The Soul Society is much slower paced, full of nature and usually very peaceful.  Ten to one it’s better than the living world,” said Kuchiki proudly.

“So... the Soul Society seems to have taken on Eastern culture... does that harken back to Ancient China being one of the oldest and first complex living world civilizations?  Like, was there a war that decided this, Mayans vs Chinese, or...?”  I was curious.

Kuchiki looked completely bewildered, like she had no idea what I meant.  “What is... China?”

“It’s... the country... near... this one?”  I was now the one who was confused.

“Oh, you mean Region 45!  The big one!” said Kuchiki brightly.

“Yeah, you know what?  Never mind,” I decided.  “Next question.  How do you get all those people from all those different countries to come together at once?”

“Well, it helps that all languages become one language in the Soul Society,” Kuchiki explained.  “Everyone thinks everyone else is speaking their language.”

“Is there a Hell?” I asked next.

“Yes.  Evil souls are sent there.”

“How do you define evil?”

“Evil is one who has done dark things.  Such as murder, or rape.”

“And what was that black butterfly?” 

“That was a Hell butterfly.  Not actually related to Hell, funny enough.  They relay messages, guide Plus souls on to the Soul Society - they do all sorts of useful things on command.”

“So why haven’t I ever seen a Shinigami or a Hollow before, then?” I challenged.  Everything else fit.  The souls never appearing.  The souls disappearing.  

“As I said, you have to be of a certain spiritual energy level to see us.  Your powers have grown as you’ve gotten older, yes?”

“... Yeah,” I admitted at last, thoughtfully.  “They have.  The more ghosts I come into contact with, and the more I age, the more my powers grow.” 

“Exactly,” said Kuchiki neatly, pleased.  “That would explain it.”

“So you’re on a mission now?  This is your sector?”

“Correct.  I was searching for a source of huge spiritual presence, and then I was distracted by a Hollow alert, so I was chasing down the Hollow and then when I entered this room - which is very close to the spiritual presence - the Hollow suddenly went off my sensing radar.  It’s very peculiar.  Like some force is obstructing my senses.  That’s why I’m in your room.”

“And I can see you because I have the power that makes dead people Shinigami?”

“Yes, quite a lot of it.  I have never even heard of a human who can see Shinigami before.”

“So that could be why more and more ghosts keep finding me as I get older and older.” It had been a growing problem for me. Even a girl with spirit energy needs her peace occasionally.

“Yes, it’s probably a growth spurt of your spirit energy.”

“Okay... prove it to me,” I said firmly, crossing my arms.

Kuchiki seemed caught off guard.  “... What?”

“If you have all these amazing powers...  Show me some.”  This would be the deciding factor for me.  I don’t believe in what I can’t experience.  I’m not one of those ‘blind faith’ sorts of people.  Con artists, fake psychics, magic, and stupid reality TV shows are not my forte, and neither, really, is religion.

“You see that I am different, yet you do not believe in me?” Kuchiki asked, both disbelieving and scathing.

“I want proof,” I repeated stubbornly, lifting my chin defiantly.

Kuchiki’s eyes narrowed.  Then she suddenly unsheathed her sword, reached out, and made a little slice in my arm.  I winced, there was a moment of pain - “How can you do that?” I asked wonderingly.  “Plus souls can’t touch living things.”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” Kuchiki asked in amusement.  (“No,” I said.)  “It’s all about how much spirit energy you have.  The more you have, the more you can affect the living world around you.  Now shush and watch me work.”

Then Kuchiki put her hand over the cut in a flash of electric blue and the cut was miraculously gone.  Just like that - zip.  As if it had never been.  I stared.

For the first time, Kuchiki smiled.  “You see?  Healing kido.  A normal Plus spirit couldn’t do that.  Kido is one of my favorite parts of being a Shinigami. My kido marks in the Shinigami training academy in the city, Shino Academy, were top notch.”

The moment of peace was interrupted by a sudden roar.  A horrible, piercing, screaming howl of pain met my ears, and I looked up, my face white.  “What the hell was that?!” I demanded.

Kuchiki stared at me. “What was what?” 

“I just heard a horrible, piercing howl. Is that the Hollow you’re looking for? How are you not hearing this and I am?”

“I - I don’t know,” Kuchiki admitted, seeming mystified. “I hear nothi -” Then there was a particularly loud screech that sounded like it was coming from right outside the house. “There!” she said, whirling around. “Why am I only hearing it through some unseen filter -?”

Then there was a crash from the floor below and a girlish scream. The Hollow was attacking the house.

“That was Yuzu!” I realized in fear, and then I had sprinted past Kuchiki and down the stairs into the family room before Kuchiki could even so much as react.

I ran into the family room to find our table broken and Dad lying facedown in a puddle of his own blood. I felt a jump of fear at his helplessness. Yuzu and Karin were curled up in a corner, screaming, as a huge spirit monster forced itself through a hole it had made in our far wall. I stopped in fear, shaking. It was a huge hulking monster with a white mask face and leering skull teeth. There were two empty eye sockets in the mask’s eye holes, empty but for a single golden light of sentience.

A skull mask with no person behind it.

Then the Hollow’s claw went for my sisters and anger pushed aside my fear. I ran forward, shoved them aside, and felt the Hollows claws close around me instead. I was lifted high up into the air above the back street behind our house, my feet dangling above the asphalt and the pressure of the human-sized claw suffocating.

“Nee-chan!” I heard my sisters call. I wasn’t sure they could even see what was attacking us.

“Let go of me, you fish-faced freak!” I shrieked, kicking ineffectually at the Hollow’s claw. Then it opened its maw to swallow me whole. I saw a dark chasm, gnashing teeth, felt its putrid blood-stained breath... “Karin, Yuzu, take Dad and run!” I screamed, unable to look away - my last act, I thought -

Then there was a howling roar and I felt myself released. Kuchiki had sped forward, knocked out my screaming sisters, and cut through the Hollow’s arm holding me. It writhed and howled and retreated as I felt myself hit the ground inside its dead, cooling fingers. I forced myself out and to my feet - Just in time to duck around Kuchiki’s blow.

“Don’t you fucking try to knock me out!” I shouted, backing up, infuriated. “This is my family being attacked, I know what’s going on, I have to help you!”

“All you would do, human, is succeed in adding to the body count!” Kuchiki shouted, and then she waved a hand. “Binding Spell, the First: Sai!”

I felt my arms and legs spring together, caught by invisible binds, and I fell flat on my stomach on the ground. “Goddamnit!”I shouted, twisting. “I have - to save - my family! You - will not - hold me - BACK!”

And as my fury mounted, I felt a kind of pressure inside me, building and building - then gold characters were flexing around my form - and in a great scream and a burst of power, I sprang to my feet, freed. “Ha!” I said, flushed, grinning.

“Impossible...” Kuchiki was gaping at me. “You are... unharmed...”

The Hollow was swiping at her from behind with its other claw. “Kuchiki! Two o’clock!” I barked, and she whirled around just in time to cut off its other arm. It retreated again, writhing, howling. Were its arms... regrowing?

“Can all Hollows regrow limbs?” I asked thoughtfully.

“They all have different abilities... Thank you,” said Kuchiki softly, her back to me.

“For saving you? Right back at’cha.”

“For that. And for helping me understand...”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. I didn’t like this new amazed, cryptic Kuchiki. I thought I preferred her calm, cool, collected, stuck up, and asshole-ish, knowing all the answers.

“The Hollow attacked your house, but did not immediately kill your sisters or go to eat them. Not even your father, who lies on the floor and is helpless prey, has been eaten. Why?”

I paused.  That was actually a damn good question.  If Hollows attacked people to eat their souls... why...?  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Because it was looking for something else.  Or rather, someone else.  Hollows will eat all souls, that is true, but they prefer souls with high spirit energy.  When possible, they always attack prey opportunistically, prey that will be as filling and juicy as possible.  

“Prey like you.

“You, human girl, have more spiritual power than anyone else I have ever heard of.  You, as a living human, can see and touch Shinigami and Hollows. You, as a living human, can break a strong Shinigami binding spell.  And I have realized - the spiritual presence I was sensing was you.  You were the source, your bedroom was.  Your spiritual presence spreads out so far around you, I felt it from all the way on the other side of your district.  The closer I got into the thick of it, the center of the cloud of spirit energy, the harder it was to sense anything.  But the minute you moved away from me even a little bit, I could sense better again.  And you, you heard the Hollow before me.  Because your power, which was blocking me out, gave even your untrained soul better ears than I have.

“The thing obstructing my senses was you.

“And, most likely, these Hollows are attacking your home, and the people you know, because they are looking for you.  They are attacking people you touch, people you leave your soul’s signature on.  You have become so strong that Hollows not even in your area are instinctively seeking you out.  You leave such a strong trace that they can sense you even in the people who are not you.”

I paused.  “... And this will continue happening?” I asked quietly.  “More Hollows will come, and they will continue attacking the ones I love, as long as I am around?”

Kuchiki winced.  “... Yes,” she admitted.

And then I hit Kuchiki Rukia over the head and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Girl needs to learn to guard her flank,” I said, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that she’d been beginning to trust me and I’d just fucked that all up.

Not that I had much time to worry about that. I had bigger problems.

-

I knew what I had to do.  It was the most cliched line in all of action history, but in this case it was true.  I was about to fix this problem.  And what I was about to do, no one else could do, or would do, except me.

I looked fondly once more on my home, my unconscious sisters and father, even on Kuchiki herself.  I gave one thought to my friends at school, another thought to my friends in karate and kendo clubs, and another to my friends in roller derby and in urban exploration. I thought fondly of Tokyo - this big, beautiful, crazy, fascinating city.  They were all in danger.  But I could save them - save them from myself.

If I had my way, no one had to die tonight except me.

There was no hope for me.  I was as good as dead.  I had no Shinigami powers, and supposedly nothing else worked against a Hollow.  So the Hollows would continue stalking me, hunting me down through my friends and family, until one finally killed me.  I could not count on the Shinigami to always be around.  

So, I thought, take out the middle man.  Just let it kill me before it killed anyone I cared about.

But I wasn’t stupid.  If I stayed here and let it eat me, it would just eat Kuchiki and my sisters afterward.  Hollows were plagued by constant emptiness, right?  But if I led it to an abandoned place far away and then let it eat me... then supposedly it would go after anyone equally.  

But just in case, I should probably try to kill it.

And I kind of liked that idea.  That I could die killing it.  Maybe I could even be released into the Soul Society that way, and release other souls besides myself.  And if I thought that through my actions I was atoning for that one horrible thing I had done to my mother - well, no one had to know that except myself.

Of course, I faced the possibility that I would wound it and not kill it.  In that case, until the Hollow was destroyed by a Shinigami like Kuchiki, I faced dark oblivion.  But oblivion was what I’d always planned for anyway.  So death at the hands of the Hollow didn’t bother me as much as it might have other people, though I wasn’t looking forward to the pain.

So I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and then ran outside to stand in front of the Hollow in a strong wide-legged stance.  My face was hard, my eyes stony pieces of flint, fiery and determined.

“Hey, asshole!” I shouted to the Hollow.  “You want my soul?!”  The Hollow, which had recovered at least somewhat by this point, snarled, roaring.  I raised my arms.  “Then come and get it!”

And I turned and ran.

The Hollow followed me.

I was a good runner.  I’d always prided myself on that.  I could sprint, and tonight, being chased, I sprinted faster than I ever had before.  There was a fleeting kind of triumph, I thought, to the way I always ran just that much faster than the snarling Hollow - though maybe that was just the adrenaline talking.  I ran through darkened streets, passed by houses standing in rows on either side of me like silent sentinels, until I finally made it into an empty black park near an abandoned housing unit.  Skeletal tree branches lifted long tendrils up to the sky as if in a kind of prayer, the leaves obscured by darkness.  I stopped in a space between two trees.  Turned around.

I got into a stance and held the knife before me, scowling firmly.  And I waited.  Unable to speak, breathing hard.

The Hollow paused.  Then charged toward me, howling.

I looked into the teeth, felt the putrid breath once more, and tried to position the knife so that it would go right for the Hollow’s center.  This thought grounded me.  Distracted me from my overriding fear.

For the second time that night, I was prepared to die.

-

But then my vision was covered in the shink of a sword and a flash of black cloth.

Kuchiki had run in front of me and taken the attack for me.  The Hollow’s teeth crunched around her small frame, her sword poking out through the top of its mouth in a glint of silver.  It wasn’t dead, but it was severely wounded.  It spat her out like a bad piece of meat and retreated again, writhing and howling in pain.

“You... idiot...” Kuchiki panted from the ground, bleeding everywhere, her face deathly white and her lips blue.  

“I was doing the only intelligent thing!” I said fiercely.  “Damnit, Shinigami girl!  You should’ve let me die!”

“You wanted to save your family and friends.”

“Yes.” 

“There is one other way you could do that.”  Kuchiki was speaking quickly now.

“And that is?”

“You could become a Shinigami.”

It took a while, for the words to hit me.  “But I’m not dead,” I pointed out at last uncertainly.

“If I pierce the tip of my zanpakutoh through your heart, I can temporarily gift some of my powers to you,” said Kuchiki seriously from the ground.  “I am too badly injured to fight it myself, but you...”  She sounded hopeful.  Then she winced.  “There is a high probability it will work, since you have so much spirit energy, but if it doesn’t you will die.  But there is no other way.  No time to ponder it.  Make your decision now.”

I paused.  “So let me get this straight,” I said.  “I could either face oblivion at the mouth of a Hollow, let a bunch of my friends and family get killed and then face oblivion at the mouth of a Hollow... or I could take the option where I either save everybody or get sent to the Soul Society?”  I grinned viciously.  “And you call that a choice?  Hell yeah I’m taking option three!”

Kuchiki smiled, warm respect in her eyes for the first time.

“Give me the zanpakutoh, Shinigami girl.”  I reached out my hand.  “We’ll try your plan.”

“Not ‘Shinigami girl’,” said Kuchiki quietly.  “My name is Kuchiki Rukia.  Rukia.  You can call me by my given name.”  I got the feeling that she was some sort of noble and this was important.

I smiled.  “Kurosaki Ichigo,” I said in return.  “And you can call me Ichigo.  Let’s hope this isn’t the last meeting for either of us, yeah?”

The Hollow had recovered again, was coming after us.  

“Are you ready?” said Rukia solemnly from the ground, pointing the sword at my heart.

I swallowed, nodded.  My palms were sweaty, my heart pumped.  Somehow, the lead-up was more awful than the idea itself.  “Yes,” I said.

And then the sword plunged through my heart and I felt a flash of electric energy inside me.  It touched off some sort of spark, like my heart was made of wood, and then in a great explosion I felt something inside of me jump on top of Rukia’s sword - pin it down - suck up more and more of that addictive energy even as the sword struggled - it felt so good I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to -

And then, in a vicious and unrefined burst, my power plunged over the barriers of my body and leaped into the ether, where my soul shifted, changed, reformed.

-

When I could see again, I was a Shinigami. I was in the black and white robes, everything. My earrings were still there, so was my hair clip and my makeup, but my clothes were gone. Instead, I had these robes, fitted just perfectly to my taller form, sandals intimately fitting my larger feet.

And my sword was not strapped to my side. Instead it was a massive thing, almost as big as me, strapped to my back behind me. BTW: is sword size like penis size? Like... does greater sword indicate greater power or some shit like that?

I unsheathed it, testing it out, swinging it before me in a kendo stance. Magically, it was as light as air, moved to my every touch.

The Hollow was in front of me. Kuchiki in white under-robes was knelt beside my unconscious body, bleeding and staring. I guessed the sword WAS pretty big.

I grinned. “Well, Hollow,” I said. “You wanted me. Come and get it!”

The Hollow charged at me, I dodged effortlessly, wildly, around all of its blows, and then I cut right through its head and down through its body. It was the biggest adrenaline rush I’d ever had. It dissolved in one last shriek -

And then I woke up at home.

No, seriously. It was like being a goddamn blackout drunk.

Okay, so. I must have passed out. And first I had this nightmare that I hadn’t saved my family and they were pulling me down into Hell along with them because for some reason they were going to Hell and Kuchiki was there but she kind of didn’t care and she said I’d been too late and then she disappeared and I thought, “That bitch!” and then I looked around and I saw my mother’s pale dead face and THEN I woke up at home.

But really. Same difference.

I shot up in bed, gasping, realizing I was in my pajamas, in my living body, in bed, listening to my wakeup alarm. Had I dreamt the whole thing? I went downstairs in this weird kind of daze and the hole was still in the side of our house and my family was standing around it and my father turned around and said brightly, “Oh, I was going to let you sleep a little while longer. Look, honey, a drunk truck driver drove into the side of our house last night!” And everyone in my family was completely unharmed.

“Ichi-nee, I want breakfast if we have to clean all this shit up!” Karin demanded.

“What was that word I just heard?” said my Dad.

“Nothing...”

And... now I’m sitting up here in my room after breakfast... Dad and Karin are downstairs arguing over whether or not the “drunk truck driver” will come back to apologize someday... and Mizuiro came by to walk to school with me and exclaimed over the drunk truck driver like that shit happens every day... and I promised him I’d come to school later... and everyone’s in on this... and honest to God. What the fuck. What, do the Shinigami have, like... a triage service or something?

More importantly: if Kuchiki has taken her powers and gone back to that Soul Society place... how am I going to save my family if another Hollow comes around?

EH???


	3. Chapter 3

Entry Three

Okay, so. I’d calmed down some by the time I’d walked to school - it was like 10 or 11 AM, third or fourth period. I walked down the halls, Ooshima made a grab for my ass, and I caught his wrist and twisted it until he called mercy and fled. And it’s those little things that just fill me with joy inside. So I was in a pretty good mood by the time I walked into my classroom and up behind my large group of friends in my year - everyone except for Mizuho and the people involved in my various hobbies and clubs.

As usual, they were being complete dorks. I mean that in an affectionate way.

“Where’s Ichigo-chan? She never misses school,” said Orihime worriedly. Only Tatsuki and I get the loving suffix “-chan” from Orihime.

“Yeah, she was voted Most Likely to Become Your Terrifying Boss in last year’s middle school yearbook,” said Tatsuki.

“I heard Ooshima finally got to her,” Ryou said darkly from behind her latest book.

“You mean, like he attacked her?!” Chizuru squealed.  Michiru gasped and put a hand over her mouth.  We all know the attention that the class pretend-gangster and bully Ooshima pays to me borders on sexual harassment - especially considering I don’t want his advances.

“No,” Mahana said eagerly, “WE MEAN SHE KILLED HIM.”

“So she’s in jail?!”

“Totally in jail.”  Mahana and Ryou sat back, satisfied.

Orihime turned immediately to Tatsuki.  “Tatsuki-chan, we have to spring our friend from jail!” she said determinedly.

“Fine by me,” said Tatsuki dryly, who plainly didn’t believe a word of it.  “I’m game.”

“You guys are all ridiculous,” said Mizuiro.  “I stopped by her house this morning.  Some drunk truck driver rammed into it last night.”  He said this like it was somehow better than me being in jail.  Orihime, Chizuru, and Michiru disproved this theory by screaming.

“No, Ichigo, you’re too young and hot to leave us!” cried Keigo.

“Here, here!” Chizuru added.

“Does she need help?” Chad asked quietly, tensing.

“Fuck all you guys!” said Tatsuki in alarm.  “I’ve gotta ask the real question: IS SHE DEA -?!”

“Nope.”  My tote bag hit Tatsuki gently in the back of the head.  “Sorry to disappoint everyone.  We all survived.”

They all whirled around. I was standing there in my uniform.

“Ooshima did try to grope my ass outside class just now, though,” I added thoughtfully.  “I think I might have broken his wrist this time.”

Several of my friends flew at me at once, crying out in relief.

“OH, THANK GOD, MY FUTURE WIFE!”  That was Chizuru.

“Ichigo-chan, you’re moving in with me!”  That was Orihime.

“I was just about to start crying!”  That was Michiru.

“So was I!  Let’s cry together and then do it!”  That was Keigo.

“Fuck off, asshole.”  Accompanied by the sounds of punching.  That was Ryou and Tatsuki, defending their friend from Keigo.

“Fill us in on all the juicy details.  I want gossip material, please.”  That was Mahana.

“Chad - go fetch.”  That was Mizuiro, the only one who had remained completely calm.  Chad was so big he could walk over, pick me up as I was struggling from out of the suffocating pile of my friends’ bodies, silently put me back down, and pat my shoulders neat.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said stoically.  But the warmth to his brown eyes said he meant it.

I smiled, touched.  “Thanks, Chad,” I said.

“Does your family need help cleaning up your place?”

“Chad, you’re so big, I think you would do more harm than good,” Keigo pointed out jokingly.

“Don’t even worry about it.  The worst’s taken care of.”  I waved a hand. We’d boarded up the hole and cleaned up most of the table earlier that morning. It looks like the Shinigami cleaned up the blood, so that’s all we needed to do. Gives me an excuse to buy a new table. Win-win. “What’s this? Ochi-sensei’s period?”

“Yup, it is,” Mizuiro confirmed.

“Oh, good,” I said, taking my seat. “She won’t ask any annoying questions.” Ochi-sensei was my favorite teacher - no judgment and she could handle anything. She was actually a pretty cool lady.

Tatsuki’s eyes had narrowed and I could tell she was about to press me for more information about my house, protective till the end, but just then a voice spoke up from behind us - a new one.

“Are you Kurosaki?”

I recognized that voice. I whirled around to find Rukia standing there, in a body, in a Karakura High School uniform. 

“Nice to meet you!” Rukia smiled brightly, looking utterly alien.

“Oh, this is Kuchiki Rukia,” said Mizuiro, who knew everything about everyone. “She just started here. It’s an unusual time to transfer but her family had to move.”

I was just staring. I can’t even imagine what my face looked like.

“Kurosaki, I don’t have any textbooks yet,” said Rukia sweetly. “Could you share yours with me?” She held out her hand and written on her palm in black sharpie were the bolded words: MAKE A SCENE AND YOU DIE.

I paused - and smiled. “Sure, Kuchiki!” I said cheerfully, standing and grabbing her arm. “Let me show you around the school. Come with me!” And I practically dragged her out of the classroom.

“Wow, Ichigo’s showing around the new girl? That’s... unusually friendly of her toward strangers,” I heard Tatsuki mutter.

“Yeah, she doesn’t even usually like people outside her circle of friends and family touching her,” said Orihime in confusion.

Damnit.

-

I found an empty courtyard near the locker rooms and we stopped there. “So what’s going on? Are we skipping school?” said Rukia excitedly. “That’s what people do here, right?”

“Wha -? Well, I mean - it depends on the student - Look, why are you here?” I said, strained, running a hand through my hair and struggling to collect my thoughts. “Why aren’t you in the Soul Society? We destroyed the Hollow, you cleaned up after me and my family, you obviously have your powers back -”

“I don’t.”

“... What?”

“I don’t have my powers back,” said Rukia sullenly. “You stole them all. That’s why I have to rely on this gigai - a fake body Shinigami use in times of emergencies, to keep us from becoming easy prey for Hollows.”

“So, wait - I still have -?” I’d been a Shinigami the entire morning and not known about it. All of a sudden I felt very peculiar. “Look, walk me through this. What exactly happened last night?”

Rukia sighed. “I meant to offer you half my powers,” she said. “Instead, your soul was so powerful it took them all. What you have to understand, Ichigo, is that once you have temporary Shinigami powers, it can take MONTHS for yours to fade away and for mine to return. You passed out after defeating the Hollow, because your soul was still trying to adjust to its new form. We were worried there for a while, but obviously the transfer was successful, because you are not dead.”

“We?”

Rukia looked away. “I... may have asked for help from a shady Shinigami black market third party,” she admitted.

“Shit, isn’t that dangerous?!” My eyes had widened.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of options!” she said fiercely, looking up. “What I did for you is illegal, I couldn’t go back to the Soul Society!”

“So why’d you do it?”

“... What?”

“Why’d you save me, if you knew it was illegal?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure I have a right to know.”

Rukia looked uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment, almost vulnerable. “... You look a lot like someone I used to know,” she said. “A member of a disgraced noble family. A fellow Shinigami. I watched him die against a Hollow. And - I couldn’t -”

“You couldn’t stand seeing that happen again,” I realized. Then, “... How does a noble family become disgraced?” I asked, confused.

“The head of their family, former Captain of the Tenth Division, abandoned his clan and the Shinigami system. He disappeared. He went out on a solo mission one day, and he just... never came back. Left a lot of unspoken resentment behind him, from his relatives and his coworkers. Their clan was exiled from Seireitei city.”

“Couldn’t he have died?” I asked.

“He’s not dead,” said Rukia. “Every time a member of a noble family dies, their stone light goes out in the palace of the Soul King.”

“There’s a Soul King?”

“A figurehead. More of an object, really, a concentration of spiritual power, heavily guarded, that keeps the realms stable. We call it Soul King.”

“Okay... Who was this guy who abandoned his clan?” I asked, curious.

“I do not know,” Rukia admitted. “I was still in Shino Academy when he disappeared. I only knew his cousin, who came after him, Shiba Kaien-dono. And you... you could be his female twin.”

“So you saved me. I became a Shinigami. I passed out,” I recited. “You asked for help from that shady black market third party.”

“Yes,” said Rukia. “I paid for a gigai using my emergency mission stipend. The black market dealer, Urahara, and his gang wiped your family’s memories and replaced them with fake ones, cleaned up the blood, and entered me into Karakura High School in your class. They also watched over your soul until you were stable. Then I placed you back into your body and in your pajamas.”

“Thanks for not letting some random guy undress me.”

“No problem.” 

Rukia and I shared an amused smile, and for this weird moment it was almost like we were friends. I mean... girls have to look out for each other, right?

“So... who’s going to save Tokyo from Hollows, now that you’re not a Shinigami anymore?” I asked next. And that was when I got the answer.

“You,” she said directly. “With my help.” I stared. “What did you think was going to happen?” she asked derisively. “I was just going to tell you how to get in and out of your body and leave you to it?”

“... Kind of?” I admitted, pained.

“Ichigo, you have to do this. No one else can; I told you, I can’t go back to the Soul Society,” said Rukia, all business.

“But... Rukia, you don’t understand... I’m not this good person you think I am. I’m not a hero.” I was thinking of my Mom. The death of my Mom. “I... I saved the people last night because they were my family and I had a personal attachment to them. But - saving random strangers - hero material stuff - I just, I’m not equipped for what you’re asking me to do. You don’t know me. I’m a bitch, people are terrified of me. I’m not...”

Rukia was staring at me. “Ichigo, Shinigami aren’t saints,” she said. “They’re soldiers doing a hard job. Who, might I ask, would be better equipped to ‘save the day’?”

I pictured those girls. “Okay, so, I have two warring images in my head,” I said. “There are two possibilities, alright? Let me lay them out for you. There’s the perfect, sweet girl with the golden curls who gets all the guys. Then there’s the kickass brunette who beats the shit ouf of everybody and is in no way girly at all. She has ice in her veins and she kills for a living. Those are the kinds of women who save the day. And I’m not either of them. No matter how much I want to be. I - I fuck up, I’m selfish, I hate myself, I’m arrogant, I wear heels, I threaten to rip people’s arms off, I play the guitar too loudly, I spend too much money, and I care too much. I mean... I’m just... me,” I finished lamely. “And I don’t think that’s good enough for what you’re asking me to do. 

“Rukia... Rukia, I wasn’t even a particularly brave KID. I was a skinny little wimp who grew up to be a raging bitch. Why the hell would you want me to be your Shinigami?”

There’s this one song from the play Wicked that’s always gotten to me, and it kind of makes my point for me:

Hands touch, eyes meet.

Sudden silence, sudden heat.

Hearts leap in a giddy whirl.

He could be that boy... But I’m not that girl.

Don’t dream too far,

Don’t lose sight of who you are,

Don’t remember that rush of joy.

He could be that boy...

I’m not that girl.

Every so often, we long to steal

To the land of what might have been.

But that doesn’t soften the pain we feel

When reality sets back in.

Blithe smile, lithe limb,

She who’s winsome, she wins him.

Gold hair with a gentle curl.

That’s the girl he chose,

And heaven knows

I’m not that girl.

Don’t wish, don’t start.

Wishing only wounds the heart.

I wasn’t born for the rose and the pearl.

There’s a girl I know... he loves her so...

I’m not that girl.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry you didn’t give your powers to the right person for the job - someone fearless and self-sacrificing who always does the right thing and dreams of slaying the dragon and being the golden knight in shining armor. I’m sorry you got me instead. But that’s just how it went, isn’t it?”

Rukia was staring at me, expressionless. “... So what do you expect me to do?” she asked at last.

I relaxed in relief. “You pick out the right candidate,” I said. “I’ll help. And I’ll gift the Shinigami powers in turn to them. I’ll give them to someone else. And then... Then I’ll figure things out from there,” I said. In order to save my family and friends, I thought, I’d probably have to run away from home... and always be traveling, so no one stayed a Hollow target... but hey, I’d always wanted to travel.

“Ichigo, you don’t understand,” said Rukia. “No one else I have ever met who is a simple human is going to survive a Shinigami powers transfer. Most likely, not even your sisters. Your power is unparalleled; you’re the only one for the job.”

“But... it’s just because I have these powers?! What the hell, can’t I give them BACK?!” I asked, upset. My voice echoed throughout the courtyard.

“No,” said Rukia icily, crossing her arms. “You can’t. Ichigo, the universe gives people what it thinks they’re able to handle. It’s a neutral third party who gives spiritual power as it decides, to keep balance in the universe. Each soul is reborn with a new opportunity. You have these powers for a REASON.”

“And why the hell would anyone in their right mind give the amazing power to save anyone to me?!”

“... Do you want me to show you?” 

I stared at her. “Oh, and you know? You’ve only known me for a night.”

“One important night. I’ve already seen it, Ichigo, what would make you a good Shinigami. I’ll say it again: would you like me to show you?” Her eyes were intent, determined.

“... You’ve got one shot,” I said after a moment. Just because I wanted to see what would happen.

She put on a fingerless red glove with a skull symbol on it, ran at me, and pushed her hand at my chest. My body pulsed once and I blacked out.

-

I woke up, blinking, and sat up to find I was in my Shinigami form. My body was lying blankly off to the side. “That is me,” I said, “and that is creepy.”

“Come with me.” Rukia was already walking away.

I lifted up my body and made it curl up in a corner behind a tree, hidden. I shut its creepy staring eyes. Then I ran off to follow Rukia.

We arrived at a children’s park a few blocks away. Rukia turned to me and said, “Ichigo, congratulations. You’ve convinced me. You don’t have to be a Shinigami anymore.”

I was suspicious. “... Seriously?”

“Exactly. But let’s stand here for a few minutes. There’s something I want to show you.”

“... Okay...” And we stood, and waited. It took a LONG time. At last, there was a sudden scream - and the ghost of a little boy ran out from behind a tree, being chased by a massive spider-looking Hollow. He was crying, running, being chased, about to be eaten. I was at the fence and my hand was behind myself for my zanpakutoh before I could even think about what I was doing.

“Wait!” 

I turned around and hissed, “This had better damn well be vitally important to the moment at hand!”

“Ichigo, you’re not a Shinigami. You can’t save that boy.” I paused, staring at her. She held up a cell phone with a text message on it, giving the details of the Hollow appearance. “I just brought us here because I accept the fact that we’re going to have to get used to this. Watching innocent people be eaten by Hollows, I mean.”

She was so matter of fact about it. I stammered, “But - but I’m right here, I can help him!” 

“You can help all the other ghosts in Tokyo, too. Tons of them will be eaten every day that you’re not seeing. What’s the difference?”

“The - the difference is I’m here, I can do something about this one!”

“Ichigo, all non Shinigami must stand aside and -” Rukia began reciting.

“Don’t you fucking recite rote at me! I can’t just stand back and WATCH PEOPLE DIE!” I yelled, infuriated.

Rukia gave me a look like I was an idiot. “EXACTLY.” And then it all clicked into place in my head. I paused, stunned. “Ichigo, you can see Hollows now. And you couldn’t even keep out of their way when you were a human. You broke through a first rate Shinigami binding spell and insisted on throwing yourself into the middle of a battle zone that I could have handled without you. Because you had to save people.

“How the hell do you expect NOT being a Shinigami to even work?” she asked, exasperated. “So either save the kid and accept being a Shinigami, or don’t!”

I turned around - the Hollow was gaining on the kid - I jumped between them and cut through the Hollow in one stroke. The little boy paused, stumbling back, teary-eyed and frightened. I kneeled down and smiled at him. “You were really brave today,” I said. “My name is Ichigo. You just call me and I’ll come get you if you’re ever in trouble again, okay?”

The boy slowly nodded, hope filling his face.

I sheathed my zanpakutoh and walked back to Rukia. “... You really think I can do this?” I asked at last. “I’ll warn you: I don’t have a great track record when it comes to saving people.”

Rukia smiled. “Only when you’re a human,” she pointed out. She leaned forward and added conspiratorially: “It was meant to be.”

I snorted, smiling despite myself. “Alright, fine,” I said. “I’ll help you out with this Shinigami mission crap until you get your powers back. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Deal?” I held out my hand.

She shook it warmly. “Deal. I look forward to watching your finest efforts.”

As we were walking back to school, I added curiously, “By the way. Where are you staying until you get your powers back?”

“In your closet,” Rukia said matter of factly. “I have to be nearby in case of late night Hollow alerts, you know. Oh, and I’ll be joining all your clubs and hobbies too.”

I stared at her. “... Rukia, a pile of clothes could fall on you and suffocate you at any minute! Just take the spare room. I’ll tell my father and sisters you’re having family problems.”

“... Really?” said Rukia with cautious hopefulness.

“Sure! There’s so much we have to do! I’ve got to show you around, introduce you to all my friends, tell you all about the living world - Oh! And I want to learn kido and konso.”

“Shouldn’t we focus on destroying Hollows first?” she asked curiously.

I waved my hand. “I’m an expert in hand to hand and swordsmanship. I can already destroy Hollows. Imprecisely, maybe, but still. I need a firm grounding in the other aspects of being a Shinigami. You never know when it might come in handy,” I reminded her, when she still looked uncertain.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that this is simply your blatant curiosity about everything rearing its ugly head, and agree,” said Rukia matter of factly. I brightened in victory. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s get to work. I have a lot to show you.”

“We have a lot to show each other,” I reminded her.

“... Yes,” she agreed cautiously. “A... mutual exchange sounds fair. It would be good for infiltration purposes. You’ll need me around after all.”

For infiltration purposes? Ha. If I had my way, within the month Rukia would be basically everybody’s best friend.


End file.
